


The King and his Lionheart

by BoldlyGoingNowhereFast



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, First Time, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast/pseuds/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the timing had been different, maybe Thorin would have survived. This is the story of an unassuming hobbit saving the King under the Mountain in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King and his Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during The Battle of Five Armies and contains spoilers for the last Hobbit movie.
> 
> The title is taken from the song by Of Monsters and Men.

The last thing Bilbo saw was the blunt end of a weapon coming at his head, and then there was throbbing pain and darkness.

 

Bilbo opened his eyes to the strange sight of circling eagles through a bright blue sky and a pounding in his head. With a surprised blink, Bilbo watched as they dove with great speed into the fray of the battle, taking out clumps of orcs and scattering them like marbles as they went. From Bilbo’s position near the icy cliff, all he could hear was the faint screeching of the giant birds, the sounds of battle muted with his distance. He allowed himself a moment to lie and watch the end of the Battle of the Five Armies.

It was then that the hobbit remembered why he had climbed up to this high position in the first place, and a cold dread washed over him. He scrambled to his feet and gazed wildly around him, clutching Sting in his hand which still glowed an alarming shade of blue.

Where were the dwarves? There was no movement at all around Bilbo, and the peace did nothing to stifle his worry.

It was then that he heard a terrible roar and realized, though the eagles had come to their rescue, the danger was not yet over. Bilbo scurried to the rock face and made the perilous way up to where the roar and clashes were coming from, mindful of loose rocks that would lead him to a long fall and a terrible death. His progress was made difficult by the sword in his clutch, but he was pushed onwards by the fear that filled him at the thought of a dwarf in danger. Finally pulling himself over the ledge, Bilbo took in with horror a duel that looked like it had been going on for some time, a short distance across the ice from where Bilbo stood. Azog was hacking the sharpened addition to his missing hand at Thorin, and the dwarf was just barely dodging his attacks.

Thorin was wielding an elven blade but seemed to have no energy left to swing it, and his face was smudged with the blood that ran from a gash through his brow. His foot was leaving red smudges on the ice and his breathing was coming in harsh gasps, while the Defiler had not an injury on his awful form. Neither of the two in the mortal duel noticed Bilbo standing in shock, locked into battle as they were.

Suddenly, Thorin staggered and fell to his knees, and in a movement that drew a startled gasp from Bilbo’s mouth, Azog stabbed at Thorin’s chest with his weapon. Thorin had brought his own sword up just in time, holding it away from his chest in the curve of the evil weapon, but strength of the lunge sent Thorin flat on his back with Azog over him, curved blade inching closer and closer to Thorin’s chest. With the dwarf as weak as he was, it didn’t look like he could hold out much longer.  

Bilbo acted quickly, allowing himself no time to think. He slipped the ring on his finger and ran towards the grim scene that was now painted in greys. Biting back a scream of terror, he lunged with all his weight, plunging his little Sting upward into the stomach of the terrible orc.

Azog gave an awful roar of pain and surprise, stumbling backward just enough that Thorin could scramble away from the orc, his eyes wide with confusion. Bilbo yanked Sting out of the creature, surprised when the orc’s good arm swung outward and caught him in the stomach and sent the little hobbit tumbling backwards across the ice.

He heard the orc roar again, and by the time he managed to right himself and look back, he saw that Thorin was standing over the white orc with his sword deeply embedded in its chest, panting heavily as his blood-coated hair curtained his face.

Bilbo slipped the ring off his finger and inched slowly toward the battered dwarf. “Thorin?”

Thorin nearly stumbled with how quickly he looked over at the hobbit. “Bilbo?” His voice was nothing more than a deep rasp, and now that Bilbo was closer he could see that Thorin’s hands were trembling as he moved off of the dead orc. His eyes flickered to the black blood cloating Sting and then widened.

“You stabbed this creature. How?”

Bilbo’s fingers itched to touch the ring, clenching by his side instead. “The same way I snuck into the Elvenking’s fortress to save you.” Bilbo could feel the tremble in his own voice with leftover fear for the dwarf in front of him.

Thorin stepped toward him, blue eyes wide and lips parted. He moved close enough that he looked down into the hobbit’s face. Bilbo realized that they were both panting, still covered with the grime of the battle they had fought.

Thorin’s gaze was intense, his brow lowering as he took in Bilbo before him, and Bilbo nearly wept in relief at the clarity of the gaze he was leveled with—Thorin was no longer plagued by any sickness, and other than the gash on his face and the slight favoring of his right foot, Thorin had not sustained any injuries to be worried about.

“You never cease to amaze me, my dear hobbit,” Thorin said, and Bilbo nearly jolted in surprise when a warm, calloused hand cupped his chin in a surprisingly soft grip. “You saved my life yet again, though I am undeserving.”

He stared up with wide eyes at the Dwarven King, whose expression had softened around the edges as he gazed at Bilbo.

“Please forgive me, Master Baggins, for all that I have said and done to you. I behaved shamefully, and you were only trying to prevent bloodshed.”

“You were sick, Thorin,” Bilbo breathed. “And as your friend, of course I forgive you.” Thorin’s eyes were smoldering, and he was close enough that Bilbo could smell the coppery scent of blood and feel the warmth coming off of Thorin’s exhausted form. Bilbo could still feel the memory of Thorin’s soft fur collar and his hair as he embraced Bilbo that day on the Carrock.

Thorin’s breath hitched and a smile curled the corner of his mouth. “You are an amazing creature.”

Bilbo’s response was completely cut off by the warm mouth that suddenly covered his own, and he let out a small noise of surprise against the soft lips. Bilbo stiffened, feeling the brush of a surprisingly soft beard against his chin and tasting the tang of blood; there was no doubt in his mind whose lips were against his own. There was a clatter as Sting dropped to the ice.

Bilbo melted, his eyes drifting closed and his hands coming up to grip at Thorin’s broad shoulders, tilting his head back and changing the angle of the kiss. A strange noise came from the dwarf’s throat and the hand that had been cupping Bilbo’s chin slipped onto the back of his neck into the soft hair there. His other hand came around Bilbo’s back and pulled the hobbit into his chest.

As Bilbo kissed Thorin Oakenshield, thoughts of how close he had been to losing the dwarf completely filtered through his mind. How would it have been to come up to the cliff looking for Thorin only to see him stabbed through the chest and dying? Had Bilbo woken up moments later, he wouldn’t have been there in time.

These thoughts added urgency to the kiss as he tugged on the dark braids. The king was a demanding presence around the hobbit; his mouth was hot and slick against Bilbo’s and his hands were warm and strong.

Thorin slowed the kiss. “You have become more important to me than you can possibly know, Bilbo,” Thorin breathed against Bilbo’s lips, and the hobbit shivered. The sound of his name in Thorin’s voice was rare in itself, but the meaning behind his words was enough to make him weak at the knees.

It was the loud screech of an eagle that finally caused them to pull apart reluctantly, arms still around one another. Thorin looked up at the sky, his nose nearly brushing Bilbo’s as he tilted his head back to watch the lazy circling of the great birds.

“The eagles have chased off the orcs and goblins,” he said softly, voice exhausted and rough. “It is over.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the armor-covered chest in front of him, exhaustion seeping into his own frame. He felt a kiss placed on the top of his head and savored in the warm arms around him. The worry and exhaustion were taking a toll on him, and the comfort he found in Thorin’s unharmed grasp was overwhelming. He felt tears brim in his eyes and he couldn’t help the sob that escaped his lips.

Thorin’s arms tightened around him.

 

There were no deaths in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and Bilbo found that to be a miracle for how close they all were to losing the battle entirely. As the Company came up to the ice cliff to find Thorin, smiles lit faces and hands grasped shoulders and dwarf embraced dwarf. Bilbo couldn’t help smile at the cheerful faces of his friends, knowing that there could have easily been a much different outcome. Bilbo couldn’t help continued glances at Thorin, noticing that he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t seem to look away. Thorin smiled warmly at him.

That night they had a feast celebrating the outcome of the battle, singing songs and enjoying each other’s company. Thorin joined in, and it was noticed by all that he was no longer under the terrible sickness of gold. Bilbo watched the King closely that night and wondered how it was that a bookish, soft hobbit could fall for a mountain king.

It was more than a fortnight before any of the Company had a shred of free time, with the immediate cleanup from the battle needing their attention. Tents were set up all along the plain in front of the mountain where all dwarves that had been injured were being tended to. In the city of Dale, there were makeshift rooms set up where injured men were being cared for. The front gate of Erebor was being rebuilt by handy dwarves so that those in the mountain would be protected from the coming winter. Trade routes had to be reestablished in order to get food and supplies for those who would begin living in the mountain again, and all around Bilbo the city of Erebor was slowly coming back to life. He was astonished by the amount of dwarves that had started flocking to the mountain to see the newly-reclaimed Erebor for themselves, and in turn shocked by the handiness and helpfulness of these dwarves as they assisted with the most important rebuilding tasks.

All of this meant that Bilbo didn’t see much of the Company but Bombur, assigned to help with the pantries and meals as he was. It was only mealtimes that he was near Thorin, and though the King was friendly and looked at him often during these times, Bilbo wondered if what had happened after the death of the Pale Orc had been nothing more than gratefulness and leftover emotion from the battle.

He had begun to wonder if it was time for him to make the journey home to the Shire, where Bilbo knew he belonged. He felt swept away by all that was going on around him, and while he was more than happy for his friends, he was beginning to feel as though this wasn’t his place. He had done what he had promised, and now it was time for him to move on.

Gandalf had promised to see Bilbo safely back to the Shire as soon as Bilbo was ready to go. Bilbo was having trouble saying goodbye, though, and so he stayed, helping with the repairs and making the mountain a prosperous kingdom again.

It was after their evening meal nearly three weeks after what they were now calling the Battle of the Five Armies that Thorin gently gripped Bilbo’s arm before he could move away from the table. Bilbo looked back at him in slight surprise.

“I wish to speak with you alone, Bilbo, if you would allow me your time,” he said softly, leaning close to Bilbo’s ear. The motion drew the eyes of some of the other dwarves, but none of them commented as they turned back to their friendly chatter. Balin gave them a knowing smirk over his pipe, but it seemed even Fíli and Kíli were minding their own business.

Bilbo nodded, eyes big as he looked at his king. Thorin didn’t release his hold on Bilbo’s arm, even as they left the room together and made their way to the halls of the mountain where they had set up living quarters. His hand was warm and his strides quick, nearly pulling Bilbo along, and the hobbit wondered at what was speeding his steps.

The living areas of the mountain had been attended to first, and it was made sure that there were enough rooms for the Company, as well as a few dozen extra that were clean and prepared for important dwarven visitors. They were not yet in perfect order, but Bilbo found the room he was assigned to be cozy enough, if a little large for his tastes.

They made it to a quiet alcove along the hall that was lit with warm candlelight and well out of the way of any passerby, and Thorin stopped and faced Bilbo. This dwarf was now a king, but Bilbo had trouble imagining anyone other than the dwarf that had camped out with his fellow dwarves on the same hard ground, facing the same hardships. Thorin had always held himself and spoken like a king, the only difference now being that he finally was back where he belonged. His hair shone in the candlelight, and his eyes were bright. This was where the dwarf was meant to be.

“Bilbo, I am sorry that this is the first private conversation we’ve had since the battle. A King has many duties, and I am afraid it will only get worse as time goes on.” His gaze was intent on Bilbo’s face. “Though I will learn to balance duties and find time for what is truly important to me.”

Bilbo swallowed. “Erebor is beginning to shine again, and I am honored to be here to witness it.” As happy as he was for his dwarf friends, Bilbo knew in his heart that he belonged somewhere much different. His heart ached at the thought of leaving.  

“I have an important question to ask you, dear hobbit, and it has been on my mind since that moment we shared on the ice,” Thorin continued. Bilbo was ensnared by the fire in his eyes that looked like it belonged there. With startling clarity, Bilbo could remember the feeling of Thorin’s arms around him and a mouth against his.

Bilbo was quiet, waiting for the dwarf to speak his mind. The intimacy of this small alcove was making it difficult to breathe, and Thorin was standing close enough that Bilbo could smell the oaky scents that Thorin used in his soap.

Thorin’s hand came up and rested on his shoulder. “Bilbo, I ask for you to stay in the mountain with me.” His hand slid from Bilbo’s shoulder to cup the back of the hobbit’s neck. The hand was a furnace.

Bilbo’s mouth dried out, and he opened and closed his it a few times in an attempt to come up with a proper response.

Thorin continued before he spoke. “I know you miss your armchair and your books and your Shire, but should you leave, we would all miss you more. I wish to help make my home your home as well.” His mouth pulled up into a nervous smile, an expression that looked all wrong on the King under the Mountain. It made Bilbo’s heart stutter.

“How is this home of dwarves supposed to be mine as well? I am no mountain-dwelling warrior or miner.”

Thorin’s tentative smile faded. “Bilbo, after all this time you should know that you are one of us through and through. I would do all it takes to make you comfortable here.” His face grew even graver. “I would not see you leave the safety of this mountain, unsure that I would ever see you again.” The grip he had on the back of Bilbo’s neck tightened momentarily.

“I cannot tell if you are asking me to stay from the mouth of a king, a friend, or something else. And though I know the Company would miss me, I don’t think you are speaking for them.”

Thorin’s eyes darkened with something that wasn’t anger. “I am speaking for myself, and I will not be too cowardly to admit my weakness for you with honesty.” He ran a gentle thumb over Bilbo’s cheekbone, and the hobbit’s eyelids fluttered at the soft contact. “I find that I have fallen in love with a hobbit, and though the thought terrifies me, I would not have it any other way.”

A wide smile split Bilbo’s face, slowly mirroring on Thorin’s. Before the Mountain King could speak, Bilbo pushed up on his toes and kissed Thorin on the mouth.

Startled, Thorin stiffened for a moment before sliding his hand up into Bilbo’s hair and kissing him back.  It was not the kiss on the cliff under the bright sky- this turned into something more heated, hidden in the semi-darkness of the candlelit hallway. Bilbo felt a warmth spreading through his body, all the way to his toes, as Thorin gripped him tighter, pulling the hobbit as close to him as he could. The feel of the warm hands on him, the rough beard against his chin, it was enough to have Bilbo gasping into the dwarf’s mouth.

Bilbo pulled back just enough so that he could speak. “Thorin, we cannot continue this out here. What if someone passes by?” Bilbo was a more respectable hobbit than that, no matter who it was he happened to be kissing.

Thorin nodded. “My chambers, then.” His grip was loose and his eyes were soft, and Bilbo noticed the way out that Thorin was giving him; the chance to turn and hide from whatever this was between them. Bilbo was a braver and more honest hobbit than that. He knew what he wanted and would be a fool to give it up.

“Yes.”

A smile lit Thorin’s features yet again, the one that took Bilbo’s breath away, and he took Bilbo’s wrist in hand and led him down the dark hallway to the wide, nearly hidden doors of his chambers. Though the doors were tall and heavy, they swung open smoothly and easily to the couple that had other thoughts on their minds. The rooms were rich in color, and a fire had been lit earlier so that the room was warm and welcoming. The bed was large and beautiful and soft against Bilbo’s calves and feet as he was pushed down onto it by the dwarf who slept in it nightly.

Strong arms hidden by soft fabric bracketed Bilbo’s shoulders, and warm knees pressed into the bed between where Bilbo’s thighs had fallen open nearly of their own accord. A rough beard brushed along his jaw, and Bilbo arched his neck into the touch, breath already coming in fast pants.

“I would have you here as often as I could,” Thorin murmured against the skin of Bilbo’s throat, a hand running down Bilbo’s side and catching on the waistband of his trousers. “You would be mine and mine alone.”

Bilbo gasped as a hot hand found its way under his shirt and palmed at his stomach, flatter than it had been in the Shire but recovering from the hardships of travel. The combination of Thorin’s mouth and Thorin’s hands made him squirm and gasp. He had never known such feelings.

“I mean to let you.” Bilbo’s voice was tight, nearly wrecked from the words spoken in Thorin’s deep tones and his touch. He threaded his fingers through soft hair and pulled Thorin’s head back up to his mouth for a deep, urgent kiss. Thorin’s weight tilted forward, pressing in just the right places. Bilbo couldn’t help the soft keening noise that passed his lips, which seemed to light something in the Dwarven King.

Clothing quickly found its way to the floor, removing all barriers between them, and lips and hands travelled newly-revealed skin. The silks on the bed were soft and cool against Bilbo’s back and the king above him was soft and hot against his front.

Bilbo found that Thorin was thorough and gentle, and though he had never before felt large hands and the scrape of a beard on his skin, Bilbo knew he was ruined for anything else. The low sound of Thorin’s voice panting against his ear in damp breath, the curtains of dark hair that fell around their faces encasing them from the world, made Bilbo’s head swim, and soon he was begging in a tight voice.

Thorin relented with a dark groan and a mouth against Bilbo’s pulse.

With his legs hooked tightly around Thorin’s waist and hands buried deep in soft hair, Bilbo never wanted to be parted from this dwarf. To feel the ache and burn of Thorin inside of him, to know that he belonged to this striking king, it was more than Bilbo could take. It was both entirely too short a time and after a small eternity that Bilbo was lost in a white starburst of pleasure. His voice caught in a breathless whine, his hands tightening in Thorin’s hair, head tossing back against the pillows.

Bilbo was barely aware of Thorin pressing his face into the crook of Bilbo’s neck and groaning deeply as he too toppled over the edge of pleasure.

After their breathing had calmed and their sweat had cooled, they lie peacefully entangled in one another under the cool sheets. Thorin gazed at Bilbo with soft eyes, gently combing his fingers through Bilbo’s curls. “Bilbo Baggins, I wish for you to be my Consort.”

His voice was raspy from exertion, and Bilbo found it more beautiful than any sound he had ever heard. Bilbo ran a thumb along the edge of Thorin’s short beard.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” His own voice was breathless and his heart was beginning to quicken again.

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo saw a slight furrow between his brows that spoke of nerves. Bilbo resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss the line, instead twining his fingers with Thorin’s and giving a slightly watery smile.

“Yes, Thorin, of course.”

The Dwarven King’s face brightened beautifully, white teeth flashing as he smiled. He pulled Bilbo into a soft kiss that promised a bright future with not a bit of loneliness and a fair bit of adventure.

Bilbo fell asleep that night tangled in warm limbs and wondered how he ever thought that he belonged alone in a hobbit hole. 


End file.
